


So Sweet

by Luluthechoosingcrow



Series: Guns n Greta [1]
Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band), Guns N' Roses, Rock Music RPF, Slash (Musician)
Genre: Background Original Characters - Freeform, Creative License, Dirty Thoughts, Flirting, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Multiple, Pre-Slash, Pre-Threesome, Some Humor, Some Silliness, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27097300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luluthechoosingcrow/pseuds/Luluthechoosingcrow
Summary: Greta had that sound and that energy, the same he’d felt all those decades ago as a little kid. They brought him back to his childhood even though they themselves were, practically, still children. Though they lent more towards the hippie side of it, these guys fuckingrocked, plain as day. ‘I have to speak with them’ was what repeated in Slash’s mind, over and over. ‘I have to speak with them’.Edit: I tagged this with the wrong fucking pairing, so sorry for that...
Relationships: Slash/Jake Kiszka, Slash/Josh Kiszka
Series: Guns n Greta [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1977817
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	So Sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Two by Three](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467880) by [helena_s_renn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn). 



> *Influences on this piece: heavy influence from “Two by Three” by helena_s_renn, “Your mom is gonna kill me!” by luna65, “Road Music” by helena_s_renn for mentions of GVF picking bars that would allow them to drink underage, and other various photos and little snippets of thought I can’t precisely identify but I know are there
> 
> *I am making like 95% of this up cause creative license wooo. I KNOW that Slash said he isn’t personally into Greta’s sound (but still happy for them and what they bring) but I. Don’t. Care. I’m just having fun writing, alright!? Please don’t quote that interview at me  
> *Entirely open interpretation for the twins' relationship... I know how and what I write isn't for everyone. If you don't like the idea of a Kiszka/Slash threesome this isn't the fic for you and I'm sorry if I hyped you up for without revealing that  
> *I don’t actually have anything against Alt-J or other musical genres, you’ll see what I mean  
> *The twins are nearly 20 in the beginning part then everyone is of age later so this should be compliant with Rockfic rules (Slash only flirts with the older two anyways)  
> *I have no particular plan for this story. I’ve been thinking about doing a GnR/GVF fusion fic for a couple months and it finally came to fruition. There may be more someday but I’m just following my fingers more than anything right now. Hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless!
> 
> I own no people, songs, events, or anything else. I am making up fiction here. 
> 
> Thank you @ryetheruler for the light editing runthrough!

February 2016

**After**

‘Man, Duff would get a kick out of these guys’ was the first thought in Slash’s head when he met them. Happy, knowledgeable, ready to party and explore but sticking close to family (they were all brothers, that was quite clear). And they were from Michigan, but they could probably get cozy in Seattle in minutes

Greta Van Fleet, from Frankenmuth, Michigan. The name fit; the letters were similar. It was fun to say, and he would have repeated it aloud a couple times if that wouldn’t of been fucking weird. 

They were little hippie rock stars alright. A lot more controlled than Guns were back in the day, but they didn’t have as much to prove or to be angry about. Not to say they were saints. Clearly, the lead singer had a budding sexuality and the hots to strut, and he had seen the teenaged drummer chugging beer like a champ. And they had a message, sure, even if it was a lot gentler than “Fuck you and your mother.” Their faces were so full of enthusiasm it was bursting out of them in crazed bits of laughter or fast comments, but there was just this element of fluidity that went with them as well. 

Their voices sounded like nature, he decided. Little chipmunks and birds chittering - especially that _tiny_ singer - hair blowing in a non-existent wind, voices melding into one another, occasionally hoots or claps of hands that mimicked owls and thunder. They were a whole fucking storm of patterned tunics, cheeky grins, and sweat.

He sat back and watched as they conversed with one another, occasionally shooting him looks or listening intently when he chimed in. They were a lot more relaxed around him now, an hour later, but the energy from their performance still buzzed like the hum of electricity running unseen through the walls. Hands flew, hair flew, lips flew, and a wad of spit that got wiped off with a scowl and the flip of a finger. He knew he wouldn’t remember their exact names or their ages in a week, but there were three brothers by blood and that was pretty notable. All four of them young, so damn young. And so fucking full of life!

It was more of a “another good day” feeling now, but Slash remembered being this excited after he got off of stage after a great gig back in the day. That adrenaline rush was like nothing in the world -- not smack, not sex, not even his grandmother’s apple cinnamon bundt cake. It was addictive. And Greta Van Fleet was clearly hooked. 

He liked their drive. There were always new bands - thinking they were gonna be the next big thing, hoping for it, scrambling so hard to get a hold of some fame - and he knew that at least some of them would make it, for a little while. Maybe he didn’t listen to much mumble rap (ew), or indie, or pop punk, or whatever else it was that was popular and growing nowadays, but he knew it had an audience that _did_ appreciate the music, so. The bands would coast for awhile, tour a bit, make an album… and fade off. 

Oh, he was old enough now to admit that there were other genres of music than rock n roll and blues - and that they were legitimate genres - but nothing could ever come close. See, these bands (Alt-J? He was pretty sure he had heard of Alt-J but he had no clue what to categorize them as or how to even feel) wouldn’t stand the test of time. They’d be liked when they were big and alive, the thrill would wear off after a decade, they’d stop producing, and they’d disappear. Off the map. No one would remember, no one would go looking for their records in dusty bins. 

‘ _Alt-J , who’s that?’_

_No one knows, kid. Here’s some Aerosmith.’_

He might have been being mean. He probably was, actually. But Slash liked rock n roll, plain and simple, and he always would. And lots of others always would. It was timeless. 

And what brought him on this whole tangent in the first place was that _Greta Van Fleet was timeless._ Their sound, their drive, their energy. He could close his eyes and immediately feel the bustle of a backstage crew running around, adjusting lights and cords, swerving around the little boys sat in a corner who watched with wide eyes as their mother pinned fringe to these rough and tough, larger than life men at the same time as guitars were being strung around their necks. Rockstars. (He’d grown up around them, watching them perform, hearing the music, seeing their lifestyle -- he’d always wanted to be one. And he was! It was still fun, and he had to hide a grin at the thought.) 

Greta had that sound and that energy, the same he’d felt all those decades ago as a little kid. They brought him back to his childhood even though they themselves were, practically, still children. 

Not to say they were perfect -- they needed to work on performance, professionalism, and overall sound. That was okay. They were fucking _young_ and they had time and they wouldn’t quit, he could tell that already. The last little pieces of them would come in time and then they would be taking the world by storm. He could feel it. 

\-----

**Before**

“Hey, do you see that dude over there?” Jake asked their group, their pack, their family, voice as quiet as possible in the crowded, noisy bar. 

His twin read his lips and his face more than heard him, and looked over. 

“Yeah, is that…? It can’t be.”

“No, I think it is,” Sam whispered, peering around Danny’s mass of wavy hair to see the man with a similar ‘do sitting in a corner booth. Well, more curls and kinks than Danny’s waves, but similar in overall shape and color that night under the low lights. If they had any doubts, the cigarettes, sunglasses, and top hat lying on the table proved it. 

“Holy shit!” Josh muttered. “The fuck is he doing here? You don’t think he came to see us, did he?” 

“What? Who??” 

Sam patted Danny’s arm, consoling his oblivious bestie. Danny just pouted and went back to drinking beer on the down low (not so, he was chugging) instead of trying to find whoever they were talking about. He figured it was some dude from school, or maybe even some small figure in the music business, that the Kiszkas were whispering about. Did he care? If it was gonna affect their career then yeah he fucking cared, but if it was just some random guy they had beef with, oh well. Either way, it was being ignored until they were done with the gig. No fuck ups afforded on their budget of mowing-the-lawn payments and Jake’s record shop job.

Speaking of, “You’re on in five.”

Josh nodded at the bar manager as Danny furtively shoved the glass of beer further away from himself. He was pretty sure that there wasn’t any foam on his face. Not like the guy particularly cared he was drinking - they tried to pick bars that _didn’t_ mind giving them something to drink when they were all done, or at least giving their uncles a drink to share with them - but it was another thing for the guy to directly see him lugging a Heinaken. If he saw it he would be forced to acknowledge it, and that would dampen everyone’s mood.

They got their guitars and trooped on stage. There were some cheers -- not like playing a large, outdoor venue, but at least half the bar knew who they were and the other half was curious. Josh and Jake kept glancing at the back right corner, towards a dark booth. Danny couldn’t see; he assumed its occupant was whatever dude they’d been speaking about. Whoever he was, the drama would have to wait until the show was done, son. 

\-----

**During**

Well. Goddamn. The kids could play. 

No, not just play. They were fucking singing and skipping as they poured their Barbie dolls tea. It was one thing to _know_ how an instrument works, another to actually _work_ it, but the third - and professional tier - was being able to play and play hard. Not everyone could get past the point of 110% concentration on the technicality of what they were doing. There were still good guitarists - musicians, but he focused on the guitar - that could move faster and more precise than anyone, but they didn’t have the passion. Their drive for perfection separated from the energy of the music, from the spirit of rock n roll, and their guitar solos went from bitchin’ to robotic (and not the cool, sexy sci-fi kinda robotic). 

But these kids - the banner said Greta Van Fleet - were having the time of their fucking lives; hair flying, heads back, beat thumping as they moved and played in sync. The family ties were clear (well, he wasn’t sure about that drummer, but the other three were so alike it was a little scary. Triplets?). And the passion was _there._

Slash’s jaw actually dropped when they started playing the next tune - he was pretty sure they wrote it? - and the singer wailed. Screamed? Moaned? He was like a banshee. The power, the lust, the unbridled passion just controlled enough for his voice to ring clear shook Slash to the bone. 

When was the last time he’d heard something like that? It had been awhile.

He could hear some of their influence: Zeppelin, Muddy Waters, Bob Dylan, Cream. Lots of bluesy chords and folk, some heavy hitting from the drummer than reminded him of John Bonham. But there were also some more exotic elements, things he couldn’t quite place that probably came from sources he wouldn’t expect. They seemed resourceful and open minded, like they would give anything a listening to at least once -- besides, who knew what kids these days were into? He didn’t, not really. 

Though they lent more towards the hippie side of it, these guys fucking _rocked_ , plain as day. ‘I have to speak with them’ was what repeated in Slash’s mind, over and over. ‘I have to speak with them’.

What would they be like? Cultured, rowdy, shy (he didn’t think so), cocky... Perhaps some of it all. Slash wanted to know; he wasn’t sure why, exactly, but he just needed to see what they were like behind the music. Were they genuine? It certainly felt genuine, but, then again, anyone could master playing enough to be considered a prodigy and still be an _ass._ Maybe it was a surprise, but he valued sincerity quite highly these days. 

Somehow, he didn’t think it would be a problem. They gave off awesome vibes. He ordered another drink and cheered with the crowd as they finished another song, the singer only taking a brief moment to swig from a plastic water bottle before launching into some Steppenwolf. _Awesome._

\-----

**During**

Sam couldn’t help it; he was staring. 

Well, occasionally he had to look down at his fingers, or back at his brother-bandmates to get the groove and share a smile, but his gaze was drawn time and again to the corner of the dive bar. 

What in the hell was S _lash_ doing here? It had to be a coincidence. He couldn’t think that the guy was there just for them -- they were getting bigger, but not nearly that big. Maybe he was touring in the area?

Honestly, Sam had no clue. He couldn’t say that he was familiar with Slash’s music. Sure, he’d heard some of the popular Guns n Roses songs - who hadn’t? - but it just wasn’t his style. So, he had no idea whether Guns n Roses was touring (were they even together anymore?) or if Slash was solo or on vacation or what. Zero clue. 

But it didn’t really matter whether he personally liked Guns n Roses or not, cause the guy was an _icon._ Huge. An actual goddamn rock star, and one that would be remembered for lifetimes (probably, unless the Earth fucking died or something). His opinion of the band - if he promoted or demoted them at all - could change absolutely everything. And Sam knew Jake and Josh felt the same. 

Danny didn’t know he was there, Sam could tell. They were in tune like that, even when it was something one knew and the other didn’t. That might have been for the better -- his bestie tended to get a little sweaty-palmed when nervous. Sticks flying over the crowd (or into Sam’s head) unintentionally would be bad. It was best that he couldn’t see and wasn’t told until after- oh, god. _After._ What would happen? Would Slash approach them? Should _they_ approach _him?_

That might make them look desperate, which they weren’t. But there was no way that both selections of musicians could leave the bar that night without meeting in some way -- it was absolutely unthinkable. Sam didn’t want to entertain the thought, even if meeting Slash was also incredibly nerve wracking. 

His finger slipped. Barely noticeable, but unacceptable nonetheless. If they were gonna make it big, then Sam had to get used to pressure, and to being watched by big critics! 

He turned and caught Danny’s eye, finding the beat. It was slow but heavy, perfectly timed - as always - and it burned through him almost as much as the eye contact did. Danny smirked slightly, a bead of sweat dripping from his hairline, and Sam gulped. He played on. The groove was back, the funky feeling - in more ways than one - in his gut, and he had a show to play. No more worrying about old ass fucking rockstars or intense eyes or the judgement of the forty or so people in the bar -- it was music time. 

\-----

**After**

Slash just had this _vibe,_ man. Like, he was fucking cool and he knew it, but he also thought other people were cool and worth the energy, too. It made Jake feel a little bit off kilter to have such a musical powerhouse - a real celebrity, a real _rock star_ \- training their full attention on him. He didn’t feel dissected or dehumanized, but he was certainly being judged. Appraised. The guy was listening intently to every word they said, eyes taking in their every movement and interaction. 

It was unnerving, but also almost a relief that Slash seemed so interested in them. That meant he was considering, right? What he was considering, Jake didn’t actually know; what was going to be the ultimate product of this casual meeting? A (huge) friend in the business? A simple memory? Some much needed promotion? He really didn’t know. 

His semi-worried thoughts were broken by words from the man himself. “You guys want another round of drinks?”

Was this a test? They’d all had some beer brought to them by Uncle Davie earlier, or really, Uncle Davie had bought himself some beer then conveniently left it at the table while he went to check something in the van. They had a routine. But that didn’t mean that this guy who was at least as old as his dad was the same. 

Slash laughed. “Relax, you think I’m gonna tell on you or something? I’ve been drinking and smoking since middle school, it’s not a big deal. I’ll get some.” And with that, he got up and sauntered over to the bar, getting two large, foamy mugs. Uncle Davie was also sat at the table with them, just as shocked at meeting Slash but maybe handling it better, so the bartender couldn’t really say anything. The beer was for the two adults, _ahem._

Jake had the feeling no one would say no to Slash, anyways. 

Davie looked quite contemplative, though that was often his default expression; faux-wise. The twins often imitated behind his back (in a completely loving manner, of course). 

“He’s really into you, you know.” Jake’s eyes shot to him. What? Like- “I saw him nodding along the whole show, his mouth actually dropped when you started Highway Tune.” Oh. Like that. Jake ignored the very, v _ery_ odd spike of disappointment. 

“That’s cool,” Sam said, casual as ever, but Jake could tell he was pleased. They all were. Who wouldn’t have been?! Slash was into their music! 

Watching him saunter back over, Jake couldn’t help but admire Slash’s physique. There was no doubt about his age, but he was hot maybe even because of it. Big, tan biceps, luscious hair, worn denim and black leather, flashes of jewelry that looked as natural on him as any other body part; Danny would probably look a lot like that someday. 

Josh’s sneaker-clad foot tapped his, and they shared a glance. Understanding (as always). As a test, Josh wrapped his lips around the mouth of his water bottle and took a long drink, throat bobbing, then pulled it away as he licked his lips. Slash’s - and Jake’s - eyes followed. 

Yep, they definitely had it. Neither twin would do anything like deny their sex appeal, though it was… interesting to know that an older man who surely had a gigantic reputation with women was watching. 

Josh was the more obvious one, walking around with his torso on display and arms spread, but they all wore tight clothes. Jake had felt eyes on his ass as he had played earlier, and he had a suspicion of who they belonged to. Not Danny (not the whole time, anyways).

What would Slash do if they approached him, propositioned him? Jake imagined being in a dark hotel room with the man, seeing his solid body being slowly revealed as he stripped and stripped them, feeling his kisses, his surely expert touches, watching his twin and Slash move together before he joined in… Or, perhaps it would be a quicker event. A blowjob against the wall outside the club, or maybe in the bathroom. Who would do whom? Would Slash - the rockstar, the lady killer, the older and wiser man - get down on his knees for them? He wasn’t sure. 

And would he even take both of them? Slash had stared at him, and he knew that he’d stared at Josh (intrinsic feeling, plus that water bottle thing just now), but that didn’t mean he would want to fuck both of them at once. Some people were into it, some weren’t. They picked and chose -- it was easier, sometimes, to score one girl and share her instead of two. After living their whole lives together - as much as they bickered - neither twin really minded taking turns. It was better than one having to wait by himself outside while the other got lucky, anyways.

Slash was talking about PR and advertisement now, imparting what had to be hard learned knowledge unto the rest of the eagerly listening band. Jake tried to pay attention; this was important stuff, and to hear it from someone who r _eally_ knew what he was talking about was invaluable. But, his thoughts wouldn’t stay in place. They kept jumping to the images his mind had conjured of him, his brother, and the man, Slash himself, in a dark room. Fucking. Those big biceps moving, curly hair swaying, a once in a lifetime experience. 

He reached below the table and tried to discreetly adjust himself in his jeans. His belt provided somewhat of a solid surface to hold his dick back from pointing straight out, but it also kind of hurt. Oh well. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d had to hang around with a boner -- he’d live. 

Josh caught his eye, smirking slightly. That telepathy, the same kind Sam and Danny shared but running on a different wire, let him know what Jake’s problem was. Or maybe he was having the same. Regardless, Jake’s foot was kicked to convey a nonverbal “pay attention!” and he scowled back along the lines of “I’m trying!”. Josh was always better at appearing to listen to a lecture or a story, even if his mind was miles away; Jake, on the other hand, couldn’t control his face well enough to hide his glazed eyes and bored/frustrated pout. Maybe it was the theater training. 

“Yeah man, totally!” Sam’s voice rang out, permeating even Jake’s most dirty thoughts. It was halfway between the pubescent cracks he still had and a solid tone, giving it a shriller quality than normal. But he made it through, and Jake could see on his brother’s face the minor relief. 

“What?” Jake asked, shaking his head as if he could fling off sexual desire like water after a shower. Not so successful, but his curiosity was piqued now. 

“Oh, I was just talking with Sam here about what real tour-life is like. You never realize how much you love your mom’s kitchen counters until there’s no space to put anything. But it’s still fuckin’ cool! You meet so many new people and places,” Slash grinned, smile white even in the darkness. 

Was that a wink? It might have been. Didn’t matter, because Slash was back to talking away with the rhythm section. He seemed to be getting along well with the younger two, actually holding an interesting conversation with the both of them that wasn’t forced or overly fanboy-ish from his brothers. At least, from what Jake was observing. Perhaps it actually helped that, while they respected him, they also weren’t going crazy out of their minds at meeting the idol of their life or something like that. Though, he had a feeling that he’d be a lot more aware of Slash (and Guns n Roses, by extension) from this point on…

“Jacob, what time is it?” Uncle Davie asked, leaning over to him; he still refused to get a cell phone. Jake pulled out his and checked the time, eyes widening in surprise at the number. 

“Half past midnight. And we went on at… eight?”

“Eight,” Josh confirmed. He seemed just as surprised at how quickly the time had flown (or, really, how long Slash had stuck around. Was this usual for him?”

“Well,” Slash spoke, reaching for something in his back pocket. Jake watched his arms very carefully. “I should probably get going and let you do whatever you normally do after shows, but let me give you a card first. It’s got my assistant’s email and number. If you ever need anything, ring, okay? I can’t wait to see where you guys go, I love the sound and I mean that.”

They all were a bit visibly shell shocked, but Danny gathered himself enough to take the offered card between three large fingers. His hands were just as large as Slash’s, if softer and thinner. 

They watched as Slash got up and out of his seat, donning that infamous tophat and giving them all a fistbumb before he sauntered off. 

The fuck. 

\----------

May 2017

**After the After**

A year, more or less. A short time in the long run, in the grand scheme of things, but holy hell did it make a difference in situations like this. Their sound, their fame, their cache of experience, even their bodies, had changed so much. 

That singer - _Joshua M. Kiszka -_ was giving him a boner. Don't even get him started on that slick, sexy little guitarist.

Slash had meant to watch the video when it came out, but then he got sidetracked with Cash wanting to show him a cool skateboard he’d found for sale, and then Perla had called and that had been a bit of a headache even if they’d ended it on a good note, the cats started screaming at a spider, and then he realized that it was dinnertime and he had kids to feed now that he couldn’t just let go hungry. By the end of that day he’d been so tired and already thinking of other things to do that the little music video he’d been interested in slipped his mind. 

Then two months passed. It wasn’t horrible, honestly, him forgetting for that long. It could have been years and then by the time he saw it they’d already be either too big for him to reasonably congratulate on the vid, or they’d have faded out so much that him raving about it would be an insult to injury. But two months wasn’t bad, and he had their official instagram handle pulled up on his phone, nearly ready to post.

What paused him was that he wanted to say more. Usually, Slash had a formula for his posts: The purpose (Happy Birthday/RIP/Congrats), the name of the person or group, and his signature emoticon. That was that. Simple, sleek, not confusing. He figured, if he liked something enough to post about it, then why say something, too? There was usually nothing to add. 

But this time… this time he wanted to climb one of the palm trees in his backyard and shout to all of his high-end L.A. neighbors how cool (sexy) Greta Van Fleet was. He wanted to write a long message for them, he wanted to pull up pictures, he wanted to get their tour schedule and buy tickets for every show. 

Obviously, that wasn’t actually going to happen. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - publicly show preference (both kinds) in that way. But he fucking wanted to do something. 

Slash made the post like he did all others, copy pasting that little emoticon thing one of his employees had made him (and now that he thought about it he should give Clarisse a call and see how she was doing with the new baby). And then. Then he opened a browser tab, and found himself Greta Van Fleet’s tour schedule. 

They were due in L.A. in August, roughly three months from now. Would he still be this crazy about them then? Would he have anything interesting or productive to say when he caught them at the afterparty (cause there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to that)... would he have worked up the courage to ask those twins for a little private chat? 

Only one way to find out. Hopefully, he’d be a little more reigned in by then and not so fucking foolish. Where were all of these thoughts coming from, honestly? Slash liked men, he wasn’t ashamed of it and participated in the activities that those who like men are wont to do on a semi frequent basis. No, he didn’t share the information publicly, but that was more for his family’s sake than any personal pride. Or was it? Axl hadn’t wanted…. Well, old habits die hard, and they create fears along the way. Maybe he didn’t want to know what everyone’s reaction to Slash, the rockstar, ‘s sexual preferences were. Especially if it came out he was fucking twins elfs. 

‘Especially if it comes out I’m planning on it,’ he corrected himself. The event had (rather unfortunately) not happened yet. But it would! Cause his card had just been approved by the ticket website, and he had one VIP, all access ticket to his name. That ticket, once he printed it out, would lead to everything else. Music, conversation, beer, sex?, an amazing show and four young musicians in their leather pants and women’s shirts. It was tangible, physical, a reality he should focus on instead of spiralling into thoughts about sexuality and such. At least, that was what his therapist had told him. 

For once, he agreed. Just think about Greta.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment moderation is on but please don't let that scare you! I feel it's pretty unlikely I'll delete anyone's but I just want to preview them myself first. Hope everyone enjoyed it, I would LOVE to hear your thoughts and feedback!


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